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|Mon, 07-25-2011 - 4:55pm|
I just started writing, and I got it down. There is so much left out, but I didn't want this to go on forever. Please be advised though, this could possibly do some PTSD triggering because, while I tried to pull out alot of the graphic details, there is still some in there. I really hope this helps others. There are still alot of pieces missing, but I think this paints the picture and talks about the important stuff (1) how I got in the relationship, (2) how I got out, and (3) that this can happen to anyone and they can survive. And, I know I left out growing up with my parents. That is definitely something for another day/week/year.
When I was 15, I started dating a guy who had some pretty weird behaviors. He would attribute them to trying to impress me, or they were always somehow my fault. When he started dealing drugs, he had this long, drawn-out reason for why it was my fault. Just every little thing became my fault, but that I should feel lucky because he put up with me and was trying to make me happy. I spent more and more time with him because it was an escape from my parents. I moved out of my parents’ house that year and spent most of my nights at his place, and occasionally slept at friends’ houses or my car. I was working 40-60 hours per week and going to school full-time, so there wasn’t much time in between, so it didn’t seem so bad.
Around that time, we were driving around – me in the passenger seat and him driving. I was just staring out the window, when suddenly I felt a sharp *thwack* and my nose was bleeding. It took me awhile to put together what happened… he had backhanded me while driving, and then gone right back to it like nothing had happened. Things like this started to happen more and more. When, I questioned it – he told me I was crazy, and that couldn’t possibly be what happened. This spiraled out of control to where he would do it just about anywhere. And, I stopped mentioning it. I just took it and assumed that I must be hallucinating or crazy or something because why would he possibly be doing something like that to me. I really thought I was so crazy and there was something wrong with me.
Somehow this made me apply this to my relationship with my parents too. It must have all been me. I must be such a bad person. And, I should have felt lucky to have these people in my life who were willing to put up with me and my craziness.
The relationship escalated and so did the incidents. When I was 18, he punched me hard enough to crack my jaw in front of his sister. When I was 19, he slammed my head in to a concrete wall with enough force to cause a concussion and make me black out. He also kept me steadily on illegal drugs as his “career” as a drug dealer and later drug trafficker took off. I scared to pieces to leave him, and few people really saw what was going on. He was a little guy, but strong. He would talk about wanting to molest our children if we ever had any and all sorts of horrible things as though they were completely normal.